


Neon, Midnight, Cheap Motel

by lmeden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmeden/pseuds/lmeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows from experience that to speak is to shatter the spell, to wrench Dean away from this intimacy and leave him bereft behind his walls once again. </p>
<p>Sam frowns. He should stop being so maudlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neon, Midnight, Cheap Motel

**Author's Note:**

> For fanlay and her amazing sketch called [Pink and Blue](http://fanlay.livejournal.com/12918.html#cutid1).

Sam blinks; his vision spins blearily before he realizes he’s awake, freed from his dreams, and lies on a motel bed with a worn quilt wrapped around his legs. He lets his head roll to the side and notices that Dean is awake as well. He’s sitting at the foot of his bed, shirtless and with feet pressed to the floor. He hunches forward, arms braced on his thighs.

Sam tries to speak, but can’t force the words out; it isn’t often (ever) that he sees his brother like this, so unaware and vulnerable. Dean hides from Sam because he doesn’t know how else to be, and Sam is sick to death of it. 

He closes his mouth and watches his brother shift and breathe, silent and likely woken from nightmares. (And after all this time, after all they’ve seen, isn’t it good that some things can still scare them?)

Dim flickers through the motel window, cast from neon lights across the street, throwing Dean’s back into a sharp relief of bright flesh and dark shadow. The muscles under his skin shift subtly, making the shadows writhe across his skin, and Sam’s breath catches just watching him. 

Sam pushes himself and marvels at the fact that bed does not groan, that the moment remains unbroken. Dean shifts and straightens, hands unclenching and coming to rest on the mattress at his sides. He tilts his head back and rolls his neck, eyes closed and jaw tensed. Sam slides off the bed before he can form a plan and moves silently to his brother’s bed. 

Dean must sense him, though Sam knows he is quiet, because his eyes open and he twists, looking at Sam silently. His gaze is a heavy weight, and Sam sinks down onto the bed under it. He inches close to his brother, presses their sides together. 

Dean is cool, his skin clammy. Sam glances at Dean’s forehead but doesn’t see any sweat – not sick, then, just the dreams. He reaches up and curls his hand over Dean’s shoulder, keeping silent. He knows from experience that to speak is to shatter the spell, to wrench Dean away from this intimacy and leave him bereft behind his walls once again. 

Sam frowns. He should stop being so maudlin. 

Dean pulls back anyway. “Don’t make this into a moment,” he growls, apparently trying to sound tough but managing exhausted instead. 

The tension of the moment hasn’t broken quite yet. Sam still feels drawn to touch his brother. “Really, Dean,” he says quietly. “It’s the third night in a row you haven’t slept; you can’t expect to go on like this.”

“Third night?” Dean’s voice is breathless with disbelief and he turns. His eyes shine wide as he stares at Sam. “After all the shit we’ve been through, you’re upset about me missing a few nights of _sleep_?”

He snorts and turns away, shaking his head. “I can deal with much more than this, Sammy, trust me,” he says, voice thick with a sneer. 

It isn’t that Sam doesn’t trust Dean (because that’s a question too complex to answer tonight), but more that he suspects Dean is implying that Sam wouldn’t be able to hold up under the things Dean suffers through every day. It’s like he’s forgotten that Sam has known the same horrors as he. (And worse.)

Sam reaches out for Dean’s shoulder and yanks him around. Dean flails, thrown off balance, and ends up with his hand on Sam’s knee. He opens his mouth, but Sam’s words pour out before he can say any more. 

“You’re wound up, Dean, and hurting; don’t try to deny it. You need to stop obsessing and try to sleep. _Try_ to relax, just a little, because you know that if you don’t, you’re going to get us both killed.”

Dean’s smile is twisted and painful, and Sam’s gaze slides away from it. “How can I relax? Nothing ever lets me forget what we’re up against, not even for a moment. I never have any peace.”

His last words are whispered. Sam’s breath catches. Dean turns his back once again but Sam, a horrified adrenaline coursing through him at the sound of his brother’s exhaustion, tightens his grip on the tight muscles of Dean’s shoulder and shoves him down onto the bed. 

Dean’s head bounces and he blinks before pushing himself up on his elbows. He looks at Sam, all wide eyes and panting, startled breaths and says, “Not this again, Sammy. We can’t keep this up; it’s not doing either of us any good.”

“If it gets you to sleep and goddamned _forget_ for a moment, then it’s doing a lot of good.”

Sam stands and walks to the end of the bed, steps between Dean’s knees and leans against the bed. He reaches out and pushes Dean down; Dean sighs and lets himself go. Sam bites the inside of his cheek briefly to hold back a smile that he knows will only rile Dean again. He doesn’t want Dean to fight him the whole way. 

He slips his hand under the fraying hem of Dean’s shirt and presses gently against his stomach. He trails his fingertips through the fine hair there and works the pad of his thumb into Dean’s belly button. Dean shifts and Sam’s gaze darts up. He looks distracted, but not nearly enough. 

The thing about Dean, Sam has learned through years of experience, is that he’s a very tactile person. He loves to be touched: he will turn into a hand on his shoulder or around his waist, open his mouth automatically when kissed, and likes to be pressed down against soft sheets that he can fist his hands into. But Dean is also used to being denied: after so many years of one night stands and furtive moments with Sam, he’s begun to believe that the pleasure he so loves are denied to him. 

So Dean resists in his own quiet way. He pulls away from Sam’s touch and holds himself still when Sam runs his hand up across Dean’s chest, pushing the cotton of his shirt up. His eyes close and his jaw firms, and he lies as if asleep. Sam frowns and pauses. 

Then he climbs onto the mattress and moves forward. He brushes his fingers across Dean’s nipple and leans forward until his hair teases at the corners of his eyes and Dean’s face is less than a foot away. 

“Dean,” he whispers, and Dean’s eyes crack open. 

He takes advantage of the moment to swoop forward and press his lips to Dean’s. He gives Dean one instant of a chaste kiss before nipping at his brother’s lips, licking over the bites and across Dean’s teeth. Sam pinches Dean’s nipple and feels Dean harden against him. 

Dean sighs and opens to Sam, kissing back more gently than his brother but with just the same desperation. His brow furrows and he closes his eyes, and after a moment more of sinking into the kiss, bearing Dean down and stealing his breath, Sam closes his eyes as well. He pushes his own dark thoughts away and presses his hips against Dean’s. 

Dean shifts, pressing his growing erection up and against Sam. He reaches down and fumbles at the button of his jeans. Sam pulls his hand from Dean’s chest and works at the button of his own pants, cursing the fact that they wear jeans to bed as a habit, and shoves the heavy fabric over his hips. 

He’s hot, burning from the inside out. He dives down, kissing viciously, trying to force that heat out of him and give it to Dean. He needs to distract his brother, to burn all thoughts of darkness and demons from him. 

Dean groans underneath him and twists. His hand comes up against Sam’s chest and shoves him back. Sam gasps for breath and tosses his head back, blinking. Dean pushes up, moving away from Sam and further onto the bed. He kicks his jeans off and lies there, erection straining at his briefs. He stares at Sam. 

Sam licks his lips and narrows his eyes. He sees a flash of something – maybe desperation – in Dean’s eyes just before Dean says, “Well? I’m not waiting all night for you.”

Sam surges up the bed in reply, moving over Dean and using his weight to pin him down. 

“That’s more –“ Dean begins, but Sam cuts him off with a kiss. Dean laughs into his mouth and his hands clamp down on Sam’s ass. He pulls Sam’s hips down, forcing their erections together and drawing a gasp from Sam. 

Sam breaks the kiss and digs his fingers into Dean’s side, curling around the ridges of his ribs and the muscles of his back until he writhes, caught between pain and something more. Sam watches the sensation flick through Dean’s gaze and leans downs, biting at his collarbone. Dean twists underneath him, sending Sam’s hips shuddering. 

Perhaps he’s been lying to himself: the thought flashes through Sam’s head. He doesn’t care if Dean’s distracted, not really. All he needs is Dean moving under him, panting, their hips pressed close and dizzying arousal pounding through him. And now he has it. 

He presses his smile into the muscles of Dean’s shoulder and feels them writhe underneath Dean’s skin. 

He arches his back and presses Dean into the sheets. 

He bites the edge of his brother’s jaw. 

Dean writhes underneath him, and Sam pulls him close.


End file.
